Amnesiac
by ML Tordoff
Summary: Alternate Universe, Dean x Reader. It's night time and you're on your way home from your shopping trip in the city when you come across an injured dirty-blond man, one you almost hit. You decide to take him home and patch him up because he needs help. What you didn't know at the time is that he needs a lot more help than some bandages.
1. Strangers

*Author's Note: This is the first reader story I've ever done so no flames please. Or flame if you want, like I really care. I'm just trying this out because a close friend of mine asked for it. This is also the first chapter and I realize it doesn't actually mention Dean's name, but it will in the second chapter. The first chapter was really long so I cut it short. Deal with it if you don't like that ^^

Hope you enjoy it.

You're driving down the highway in the first car you've ever owned, listening to your favorite music on the radio. You've been driving for a long time, having just come from the city. You had to buy some groceries and supplies for your favorite hobby. You also bought some toys for your dog.

It was late, the sun had set and the moon was fairly high in the sky. The stars were scattered about, lighting the darkness beyond. You smiled at being able to see the stars. It was one of the reasons you moved to the country side. You had been raised in the city, but there, you've never been able to see the bright balls of gas in space because of the city lights.

The headlights of your car light the highway in front of you as you drove. There was no one on the highway which wasn't really all that surprising due to how late it was already. You would've been home long before now if you didn't run into an old friend and have dinner with them. It was a nice dinner at your favorite restaurant and you two caught up on your lives.

Your friend had made fun of you for not settling down yet, but you had your reasons. You have responsibilities and there was just no time to uphold a relationship. Your mother thought it you should be married now with little ones mostly because she wants some grandchildren to spoil. You father, though, he's happy you're focussing more on your career and not out drinking and making mistakes like having kids when you're not ready for them.

But you knew one day you would want kids, just not right now. You wanted to find someone to love first, someone who wouldn't treat you like crap like the partners in your past relationships. The partners were always nice at first and treated you like Royalty, but eventually stabbed you in the back and left you without a second thought.

It's pretty much why you said 'Fuck it' and got yourself a puppy. A very cute mixed breed puppy you rescued from an animal shelter you work at. They were going to put her down because she was too wild and wouldn't work with anyone, except you of course. She loved you right from the start, you could tell and so could your coworkers.

They were shocked when you came back from vacation and this puppy ran right up to and started dancing around you and wiggling, trying to get you to pick her up. You did and the moment you raised her off the cement floor and into your arms, she started licking you and slobbering over your face. Your coworkers told you all about her that instant and you decided to adopt her immediately before they could put her to sleep.

That was the best decision of your life, you thought to yourself and smiled. You glance over to the passenger seat and imagine her there beside of you, panting happily as she looks out the window. You had to leave her at home with the neighbor boy watching over her because you had some things to do that couldn't involve her or else the surprise you had for her would be ruined. It was her birthday tomorrow and you wanted everything to be a surprise.

You look back to the road just in time to see someone stepping out onto the highway. You slam on your brakes, just barely stopping before hitting the person. They turn to look at you and your heart beats faster.

Cerulean blue eyes stare through the windshield at you, somehow seeing you there in the dark of the car. The man they belong to is hunched and holding his left arm close. A moment later, those eyes roll back and he collapses onto the asphalt.

You put the car in park and get out, worried immediately about the stranger who you almost hit. You rush to the front of your car and kneel down beside of him. You notice the blood there on the side of his head and his tattered clothes with even more injuries underneath.

"Mister?" you ask quietly and tap his cheek. "Mister, wake up," you say. Of course, your voice doesn't have any effect on him. He's out like a light which means he's not waking up any time soon.

You glance around and sigh, then start trying to pull him off the highway. You can't just leave him there. He might get hit or worse, die right there on the road. So, like the kind-hearted, help-your-fellow-man person you are, you decide to take him home with you and patch him up. Of course, it's easier said than done, especially with a deadweight that you have to move and get into the car.

After several minutes of struggling with this stranger, you finally get him settled in the passenger seat and get him strapped in. You close the door, making sure no part of his body is in the way, and walk around the car and slide into the driver seat. The car is put in drive and you speed off, wanting to get home as soon as possible to patch this man up. And after turning off onto a gravel road a few miles later, you soon get home. It was normally a ten minute drive from that turn, but with your speeding, a few minutes were knocked off.

Once at the old farmhouse, you stop the car and rush to the passenger side. Again, you struggle with the stranger, this time trying to get him out of the car, and manage to get him to the front door where you nearly drop him. You prop him against you and lean on the side of the house while you try to unlock the front door.

A quiet groan sounds in your ear, followed by a couple curses. He's coming out of consciousness, but from the sound of it, he's barely even really here. There's an incoherent question, the words all jumbled in his groggy state.

"It's okay, Mister," you tell him and finally get the key slide into the lock. "You're going to be okay." You get the door unlocked and opened, then try to get him inside. "Wish you were more help though," you say as you struggle more with him.

He seems to be well enough to understand your words and shuffles his feet, trying to put in an effort to help so you're not carrying his weight too. But really, it's not much help because you're still struggling to hold him on his unsteady feet.

Your baby girl hears your voice and comes flying towards you, barking happily, her tail wagging like mad at the sight of you. It's not until she's right in front of you that she realizes you have someone with you. She growls at the man, not liking the sight of him near you, but goes silent at your command.

"He needs help, Baby Girl, I couldn't just leave him there," you tell your puppy as you get into the living room and drop the man on the couch unceremoniously. You rush off to the bathroom and grab the first aid kit, deciding to readjust him on the couch after you get the kit, and grab a bucket and fill it with water and drop a wash cloth into it. When you return, your baby girl is sitting in front of the once-again unconscious man, sniffing him.

You move over to him and get him adjusted on the couch well enough that he's sitting up with his head hanging over his chest. You take a moment to just study him, his looks with aren't much right now with the blood and the dirt and the grass hiding them. But from what you can see, his short, wild hair is a dirty blond and he's got quite a bit of muscle under his leather jacket.

Baby Girl barks again and whines, glancing up at you. She wants to know who this stranger is and why he's in her house making it smell like blood and outdoors and smoke. You just shrug and start to strip him of his jacket. It's another battle to get it off, but eventually you do and toss it onto the chair nearby. Off comes his shoes because you don't like how they've tracked mud onto your carpet, but you'll worry about that later.

You raise his t-shirt up over his torso, taking a look to see what you have to deal with and see mostly bruises there. Dark bruises over his ribs and you worry if they're broken. There's no blood there so that's good, you think, and open the kit. If there are broken ribs, you want to make sure they're wrapped up so he can't get much more hurt. You glance at him again.

The way his left arm hangs down, you know it's been dislocated. You'll have to bandage that too so since you've got his shirt up that far, you decide to just remove it completely. The torn shirt is tossed onto the chair with his jacket and you take a hold of him. You have to get the joint popped back in place and that's just what you do, showing no mercy even though you want to.

He cries out from the sudden jolt of pain, waking momentarily from his unconsciousness, then falls silent again as he falls back against the couch again, passing out. You sigh and force him up, letting him rest his bloodied head on your shoulder and grabbing an ACE bandage from the kit, you start to bandage his torso up.

It doesn't take you long to bandage up his torso and his shoulder, making sure it's tight enough to hold him together, but not tight enough to cause him more pain. You rest him back on the couch, then take the washcloth from the bucket of warm water and start gently wiping away the blood on the side of his head.

You stare at him as you clean away the blood, taking in his facial features. He has a straight nose and chubby cheeks which make him look younger than he probably is. The wild mop of, you guess it's dirty blonde, hair only works towards making him younger. He has a somewhat of a high hairline and you wonder why because honestly, you're just curious about such things. But you never ask questions like that because it's not your place.

There's only a small gash above his left temple and you wonder why head wounds bleed so much. The water in the bucket is already a light pink and the washcloth will have to be tossed out due to the staining of it, not that you really care because to you, you have a thousand washcloths anyway.

Most of the blood is wiped away with only the blood staining his hair left. You can't really do anything about that because you don't want to have to lug him to the bathroom. And honestly, you don't think you can even get as far as to bathing him. Such a thought like that, a beautiful stranger naked in the tub in front of you, it brings a deep blush to your face.

You shake your head, clearing your mind of weird thoughts, and take some more things from the first aid kit. You put a disinfecting cream over the gash above his temple, then put a pad of gauze over that to protect it. You put the cream away again, then pick up the smaller ACE bandage and wrap it around his head well enough to hold the gauze in place.

Once done with everything, you look him over and decide that there's not much more you can do. You're not a doctor, but you know one and decide to call her in the morning to visit and make sure he's going to be okay. Until then, you get him laid down on the couch with a pillow under his head and the quilt from the back of the couch on top of him.

"Keep an eye on him, Baby Girl," you tell your puppy and walk out to the car to bring in everything. You make sure to hide the birthday supplies in the closet while the small cake for her, made edible for dogs, goes in the fridge. The gifts for your puppy go in the closet too and the door is locked once everything is in there. Your groceries are put away where they belong in the kitchen.

You check in on the man once everything's put away where it needs to be, then pick up the bucket and the kit. You return them to the bathroom, dumping the pink water down the drain, and then walk back to the living room.

The stranger you patched up is still passed out and it looks like he'll be that way for awhile so you plop your behind in the other armchair and wait for him to wake. Your puppy hops into your lap and curls up, her eyes on the stranger. And there you two sit, eventually falling into a light sleep.

*Author's Note: I know, I haven't been working on my other stories. I've been trying to work on them, but the creative juices just aren't flowing. I'm thinking of redoing Stab My Back because I dunno it just needs redoing. Just know that I'll get to them eventually.

Hope you enjoyed the chapter. I'll probably be putting the second one up soon. Ciao!


	2. Names

You find yourself standing in the kitchen the next morning, cooking breakfast. It had been a long night of sitting beside the couch dozing in and out of dreamland as you waited for the stranger to wake. He didn't, but he did slip from complete passed-out unconsciousness to semi-conscious sleep.

He mumbled and talked in his sleep, but it was mostly incoherent, nonsensical words. A few times, he moaned and groaned, which was what woke you the most during the night, but it was only when he moved and when you looked at him, he was still asleep. He moved a lot in sleep, tossing and turning and thrashing about, and it worried you because he could have injured himself even more than he already was, but he didn't seem too bothered by any pain he must've been feeling.

You eventually got up, though, early the next morning at the crack of dawn and started your chores. You had a lot to do, which was mostly feeding the animals you owned. There were a few chickens, a rooster, a couple ducks, a goose, a couple goats, a couple dairy cows, a donkey, and some sheep. You wanted to get a horse too, but just didn't have the room yet.

Once done with your chores-feeding the animals, gathering eggs from the chickens, and milking the cows and goats-you called your puppy and the two of you went back inside the house. You told her to watch over their guest, she obeyed and sat in front of him, while you cleaned yourself up and then went to the kitchen to start breakfast.

Just as you were finishing up the pancakes-having already cooked the sausage, egg, and hashbrowns-you heard a loud groan from the living room. You shut the stove off just as your puppy starts barking and tears into the kitchen. You wipe your hands off on the apron around your waist, pat her on the head, and give her a sausage link as a treat. "Good girl," you say and walk into the living room.

The man was already sitting up, rubbing the back of his head and muttering to himself. You walked around to in front him so he could see you and waited patiently. He sat there, not noticing you, so you greeted him, "Good morning, Mister." He jumped suddenly, spinning to see you and moved farther down the couch away from you. You could see the panic rising quickly in his eyes and you held out your hands in defense and took a step back. "It's okay, Mister, I'm not going to hurt you."

"Who the fuck are you and where the fuck am I?!" he yelled, obviously not believing you. His voice was raspy and low and deep and honestly, you kinda maybe thought it was the sexiest voice you've ever heard-not that you would tell anyone that. "Answer me!" he commanded.

You tell him your name and what happened-how you found him on the highway and brought him home and patched him up-but you can see that he's still not believing you, and you start to get worried. Your worry increases when the man starts rambling. You watch as he stands and starts pacing back and forth through the living room, staying away from you, and in this moment, you learn some of his quirks.

He twitches and wiggles as he paces, not once taking a straight step, as he rambles to himself quietly-all you can really understand is the swearing and cursing part of his ramble. His hands are busy with clenching and unclenching, rubbing and scratching at his collarbone, smacking himself on the cheek, and cracking knuckles. His cerulean eyes are a whirpool of emotion, constantly changing within seconds from mostly anger to terror to confusion.

"What's your name, Mister?" you ask, startling him again.

He jumped again, startled by the sudden question. You conclude that he got so wrapped up in his mind that he forgot you were even there. "Wh-what? My...n-name?" he asks, stuttering slightly, then goes still and silent for a moment. Confusion fills his eyes a few minutes later, then panic, and he starts scratching at his collarbone with his right hand. "I...I don't know...I have a name. Gotta have one...but...don't know...why can't I think?"

He starts up his rambling again and not wanting to see him hurt himself, you walk over to him and take his hand away from his chest. "Hey, Mister, it's okay," you say and he stares at you for a long moment before jumping away. "Sorry," you apologize and release him, taking a step back. "Do you have a billfold in your pocket? Or a cell phone? We can find out who you are."

Once again, he's quiet-you think maybe he's got some brain damage from whatever accident he was in-as he lets the words sink in. He suddenly starts patting down his legs, feeling for anything in his worn out jeans, but there's nothing there. "Nothing," he mutters.

"Maybe there's something in your jacket?" you ask and pick up the leather jacket. It's cold to the touch, having sat on the chair all night long, and smells like cigarette smoke, alcohol, and something you can't quite place but love the moment the scents hit your nose. You pass it over to him and he starts searching the pockets.

He pulls out a box of Marlboro Black 100 cigarettes-the same kind one of your friends smoke-a silver zippo lighter with an engraving of a spike-collared dog, a set of dog tags on a chain, and an old fork with what looks like blood on it. He stares at the things he's found, then glances at you, and hands you the dog tags.

You glance over them, seeing engraved words on one side of them, an image of the collared dog on the back. "One says 'Dean Ambrose' and the other says 'Mox, Street Dog'," you read, then glance at him. "I guess your name's Dean Ambrose and Mox the Street Dog is your nickname?"

He shrugs at that, his eyes on the fork. He seems entranced by it for some reason and you notice an engraving on it. You look closely, without stepping any closer in fear he'll freak out and read the letters 'DMA' on it. "It's beautiful," he whispers and touches the fork lovingly, a small smile appearing on his face.

You stare at him, noticing the dimples popping with the smile and you can't help but smile too and think to yourself how he's kinda cute with his messy hair and that smile of his. Suddenly, your puppy barks, jumping into the air between the two of you and trying to catch your attention. "Yes, Baby Girl?" you ask her and she settles on her haunches, staring at you.

She barks again, then lays down and looks up at you with large brown eyes. She pouts and you sigh, then kneel down. "I didn't forget about you," you say and she rolls over. You rub her belly, smiling and cheers her up. You see the man kneel down too after sliding the fork into his pocket, and he starts rubbing her belly too.

"Cute dog. What's her name?"

You tell him her name, then say, "But I usually just call her 'Baby Girl' because that's what she is. She's my baby." You see him smile more as he stares at the dog, petting her more. You look at the dog tags again, then at him. "Should I call you Dean? Or Mox?"

He glances up, having forgot about the dog tags and shrugs. "I dunno," he says, then takes the tags from your hand. There's a moment of contact that leaves your skin tingling and you feel your cheeks heat up a bit, a light blush appearing. "Whatever you want, I guess."

You nod and stand. "I have breakfast ready," you tell him and hear his stomach growl at the sound of food. That makes you chuckle and you lead him into the kitchen. "Have a seat, you say, motioning to one of the plates set at the small round table. He does and you can feel his eyes on you as you move the food to the table.

"It looks good," he says.

"Take all you want," you say, sitting across from him and start making your own plate of food.

He glances at you, surprised and confused, then piles his plate high with food and starts eating like he's been starving for weeks. And you wonder if he has. He wasn't in the best shape when you found him last night, but he didn't look like he wasn't in the worst shape ever. His muscles were hard to the touch, but he was a little slim in the waist.

"You're staring," he says through a mouthful of food, his eyes on you and you mumble an apology and start eating yourself. A soft chuckle comes from him, the deep sound rolling in his chest, and he smiles again. Another one of those dimpled smiles that makes him look really cute and makes you smile too.

Your Baby Girl stares at the both of you, confused about what's going on, then sighs and curls up under the table as the both of you eat.


	3. Clothes

You stood in the kitchen, washing the dishes while your new guest was in the bathroom taking a shower. Your puppy was laying on the floor beside of you, sleeping. She was sad because by the time everyone was finished, there wasn't anything for her to eat. Dean had eaten everything and you meant everything, even the crumbs. He didn't leave anything on the plate. There was at least four platefuls of food you had made and he ate almost all of it-you ate about one plate yourself.

He must have been starving if he ate that much food in one sitting which makes you wonder when the last time it was he ate. You would ask if you knew he had an answer. He didn't seem to remember much from before waking up on your couch and you wonder if that was good or not.

"Hey," a raspy voice says and you glance over to the kitchen doorway to see a sight you didn't know how to feel about. Dean was standing there, blond hair plastered to his forehead, bandages missing, barefoot, and only wearing a simple towel loosely tied around his waist. He twitched a bit and wiggled, not that he cared-you don't even think he noticed. "Um...ya got any clothes I can borrow? The ones I was wearin' ain't no good."

You think for a moment, making sure to look away from him out of respect for privacy, and hum softly. "Hmm...yeah, I think I got something." You walk out of the kitchen and to the stairs, then glance back when you don't hear footsteps. "You can come upstairs if you want. That way, I show you to the guest room."

He nods once and quickly walks towards you, then follows you up the stairs. He's quiet, his bare feet making a soft sound when he steps. He follows you down to your room with is at the end of the hall to the left, and he stops in the doorway while you move to the closet nearby and start to rifle through it.

"I know I got something here," you mutter, digging through the boxes in your closet. You think to yourself that you should really reorganize everything and clean up so you can find stuff, but you never do. Oh well, you think. "Found them!" you exclaim and pull out the large box stuffed with clothes. "Can you believe they were at the back of the closet?" you ask, turning to the doorway.

Dean is sitting on the floor, legs somewhat crossed, rubbing your puppy's belly. He has a big smile on his face, the kind that shows off his dimples, and for some reason, it makes your heart beat faster. He must feel you staring or something because he glances up at you. "That the clothes?"

You nod, glancing away from him, feeling slightly embarrassed for some reason. "Would you...like me to wash them first? They've been in there for a while and smell a bit."

Dean shrugs. "Sure, go ahead."

"I can show you to your room too," you say, stepping closer. He nods and gets up, your puppy rolling over onto her feet, tail wagging wildly as she looks up at him. "She likes you."

"Guess so," he replies and pats her head, then follows you out to the hallway with her right behind him. "That normal for her?"

You glance at him, stopping at the door across the hall from your room. "She normally hates people no matter who they are. Male, Female, Hermaphrodite, Non-Gender. Doesn't matter. Takes her a long time to get used to someone...unless they're children. But...you seem to be the exception. I've never seen her take to someone so quickly. Not since me of course."

"Guess I'm lucky then," he says and scratches behind your puppy's ear.

You nod, agreeing with him, then open the door to the room. "This can be your room. There's a comfortable bed and a dresser for your things," you tell him, seeing him step into the room. "Um...I'll have to get some blankets and pillows out of the closet and uh...if you want, we can paint the walls a different color."

"Naw, it's perfect," Dean says, smiling softly. "Could use some pictures or something on the walls, but other than that, it's perfect."

"I have boxes of posters and artwork you can go through sometime. I'll just have to find them first."

"Okay, cool."

You smile at him, then say. "I'm going to get these washed up. Um, just feel free to do whatever you want until they're done. But don't hurt yourself." He gives you a nod, then you leave him with your Baby Girl and walk downstairs to the laundry room to start the clothes. As you're walking away, you can hear her barking happily.

*Author's Note: I just wanted to let everyone know who reads my stories that I have stopped writing Stab My Back. I couldn't get past the writer's block and I've decided to rewrite it completely. You may or may not find some of the scenes in future stories of mine. Sorry for the inconvenience.

Demangel Dog out


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